Male Bonding: Spencer Style
by Collegekid2006
Summary: Three generations of Spencer men go camping. No good can come of this.
1. Chapter 1

"Grandpa," Shawn whispered confidentially, leaning over the backpack that was lying on the station wagon seat between them. "I hate camping."

Grandpa smiled and leaned back over, shielding his mouth so Henry couldn't hear him from the front seat.

"Me, too, Kiddo." He whispered.

"Then why are you coming?" Shawn asked.

"Same reason you are. Your dad's making me."

"Then why doesn't mom have to come?"

"Because she's smarter than us."

Shawn stifled a giggle, glancing up nervously at the rear view mirror. But Henry's eyes were fixed on the road ahead. He wasn't the least bit interested in what was going on in the back seat.

"If he gets eaten by a bear, can we go home early?" Shawn asked, trying not to laugh out loud.

"Shawn." Grandpa returned sternly.

"Sorry." Shawn sighed.

"A mountain lion is much more likely."

This time, Shawn couldn't contain his laughter anymore. It erupted out of him like a volcano, until he was rocking back and forth in his seat and stomach hurt from laughing so hard.

Henry was suddenly interested. His eyes met Shawn's in the rearview mirror.

"What's going on back there?" He demanded.

"Nothing." Shawn answered once he could speak again. Grandpa winked at him, which nearly set Shawn off again, but the laughter died in his throat when he saw his father's firm eyes still watching him.

"How many right turns have I made, Shawn?" Henry asked.

"In your entire life?"

"Shawn."

"Five," Shawn sighed.

Henry nodded and turned his attention back to the road.

"He still does the random pop quiz thing?" Grandpa muttered to Shawn a moment later, once he was sure his son wasn't listening anymore.

Shawn nodded.

"Yeah."

"What happens if you miss one?"

Shawn considered for a moment, his forehead wrinkling as if the thought had never occurred to him before.

"I don't miss."

The rest of the car trip was quiet and uneventful, until Henry finally came to a stop at the base of a mountain.

"We're here," he announced, stepping out and stretching his back. "Now it's just two miles up to the cabin."

"Two miles?" Shawn groaned, struggling to get his heavy backpack on. "We have to hike _two miles_ up a mountain?"

"It's not that far, Shawn."

"Shouldn't someone stay with the car?" Shawn asked hopefully. "If we just leave it here all weekend, someone might steal it."

"Why do you think we took your mom's car?" Henry returned with a shrug. "No one's going to steal a station wagon."

"Besides," Grandpa added, rapping the top of Shawn's head with his knuckles as he put on his own backpack. "If _anyone_ gets to stay behind, it's me."

"Why you?" Shawn shot back, grinning as he swatted his grandfather's hand away.

"Because I'm old!"

"Dad!" Henry growled. "_No one_ is staying behind with the car! And you're not helping!"

"You want help, Conan the Barbarian?" Grandpa snorted, undaunted by his son's glare. "Next time, let us go camping at a hotel with a swimming pool and mini bar."

"Yeah!" Shawn agreed, but quickly shut up when his father's glower was turned on him.

"Come on, guys," Henry ordered, starting the trek up the mountain. "We're wasting sunlight. Get a move on. We want to get there and get set-up before dark."

"You know, Dad…they have these things now…called electric lights…" Shawn mumbled, casting one last forlorn glance back at civilization before reluctantly following his father.

Fortunately for him, Henry was too far ahead on the trail to hear to the quip.

They continued to plod along the winding, steadily-uphill path for a half-hour before Henry finally stopped to take a break.

"See, Kid." He grinned, dropping his backpack on the ground and digging inside for his water bottle. "It's not so bad."

"Yeah," Shawn sighed, collapsing onto a giant rock. "But I haven't seen a single mountain lion…"


	2. Chapter 2

"Are we almost there?" Shawn asked for the ninetieth time in only ten minutes.

"Shawn!" Henry snapped, his patience wearing thin. "I told you! We still have about a mile left. We'll be there soon."

"Okay…"

Shawn sighed and stopped to tie his shoe, letting his father stomp ahead. Grandpa waited for him, grateful for the rest from the seemingly endless hike.

"You doing okay, Kiddo?" He asked, slightly out of breath as he leaned against a tree.

Shawn looked ahead, making sure his father was completely out of earshot, then motioned his grandfather to come closer.

"Grandpa…" he whispered, his eyes wide in terror.

"What?" Grandpa whispered back, kneeling down next to him.

"Don't tell my dad…but I think we're being followed."

Grandpa looked around quickly, but didn't see or hear anyone except Henry in the distance, snapping his way doggedly through the brush while his father and son fell further and further behind.

"Followed? By who?"

"A raccoon!"

Grandpa snorted, doing his best to keep from laughing at his clearly frightened grandson.

"A raccoon? Really?"

Shawn nodded emphatically, his eyes darting left and right as if he expected to be attacked at any moment.

"I'm telling you! It's out there! I saw it!"

"Shawn, raccoons are mostly nocturnal. They're not usually out during the day."

"This one is!" Shawn insisted. "And he's _watching_ me!"

"Watching you do _what?_"

"I don't know! But he has evil, bloodshot eyes and a nick in his left ear!"

"You _profiled_ the raccoon?" Grandpa scoffed, his eyebrows raised.

"Of course!"

"What the hell did your dad do to you?" Grandpa muttered, rolling his eyes as he pushed on ahead. "What kind of eleven year-old profiles a raccoon?"

"The kind that's about to be murdered by one!" Shawn shot back, crossing his arms and refusing to budge.

"Maybe your dad's right, Kiddo" Grandpa called over his shoulder "…maybe you do need to get out in nature more often…"

"I do not!" Shawn shouted indignantly after him. "I need to stay home where there aren't any animals that want to kill me!...except that dog down the street…"

After sulking for a minute, Shawn suddenly realized that his grandfather had disappeared around a bend.

He was all alone now… and vulnerable to rogue raccoon attacks.

"Grandpa!" He yelled, running frantically to catch up. "Did Dad bring his gun?"

Grandpa turned around again.

"I doubt it, Shawn. And I don't think it's raccoon season, anyway."

"Why not?" Shawn demanded. "He started it!"

"Who needs a gun?" Henry asked, coming back to find them.

Grandpa glanced over at him.

"Congratulations, Supercop," he intoned sarcastically. "Your son thinks he's being stalked by a raccoon."

"What?"

"It's true, Dad!" Shawn insisted, stomping his foot. "It's following me! Every time I look over, there it is!"

"Where?" Henry turned around in a slow circle, his eyes scanning the trees and bushes.

"Well, it's not there _now!_"

"I don't think raccoons live this high up, Shawn."

"This one does!"

"Kid, there's no raccoon. Come on. It's getting late and we still have a long way to go."

"Fine." Shawn huffed crossly, trailing behind Henry and his grandfather, still peering off into the brush, certain he was on the verge of a messy, gruesome death.

"You sure got that boy paranoid," Grandpa commented quietly, walking alongside Henry.

"Don't start, Dad." Henry growled, his fingers tightening around the straps on his pack.

"If you'd cut him some slack once in a while…"

"Dad! My son, my rules. You had your chance."

"I'm just saying!"  
"Well, don't!" Henry snapped, quickening his stride. "Don't just say. It's not _my_ fault the kid's seeing phantom raccoons!"

"A raccoon with evil, bloodshot eyes and a nick in its right ear!"

"Left ear!" Shawn corrected bitterly from a few yards behind. "But you got the evil, bloodshot eyes part right."

"Left ear?" Henry repeated, pausing and turning back to his son.

"Yeah." Shawn nodded.

"Any other distinguishing marks?"

"For God's sake, Henry!" Grandpa yelled. "Leave the kid alone!"

"Dad." Henry held up his hand. "Stay out of this. Shawn, any other distinguishing marks?"

Shawn closed his eyes, raising a single finger to his temple as he tried to think.

"Yeah," he said finally, his eyes snapping open again. "He was missing a patch of fur on his leg."

"Which leg?"

"The front left leg."

"There you go, Dad." Henry said, glaring at his father. "The kid saw a raccoon. So don't tell me how to raise my own damn son. And, Shawn," he added, looking down at him. "It's a raccoon. It's not stalking you. Get over it, and get a move on. We're losing light."


	3. Chapter 3

"That's _it?_" Shawn gawked as they rounded a bend and the small, one-room cabin suddenly came into view. "_That's_ where we're supposed to sleep?"

"Sure," Henry shrugged. "Why not?"

"Won't the little kid who built it want his Lincoln Logs back?" Shawn quipped, staring in wide-eyed bewilderment at the structure, which had seemed so much bigger in his imagination.

"It's not _that _bad, Shawn," Henry rolled his eyes as he opened the door and stepped inside.

Shawn lingered in the doorway, surveying the dark interior with growing apprehension.

"There's not even a bathroom!" He gasped.

"What do you think the woods are for?"

"That's _disgusting!_"

"Shawn!" Henry snapped. "We're going to be here for two days. And you had that soda in the car on the way up. I guarantee you in an hour, the woods are going to look as good as a bathroom."

"Ewww!"

Grandpa just laughed as he stepped past Shawn and walked into the cabin.

"It's not exactly The Plaza, Henry," he agreed, grinning slyly as he gently elbowed Shawn.

"Then you both can sleep outside," Henry muttered. "With the stalker raccoons."

"That's not funny!" Shawn huffed, dropping his bag on the floor and slowly making his way around the room, taking in every crack in the walls and ceiling.

There was a fireplace built into the far wall, a small table with two rickety wooden chairs, and two windows, one facing east and one facing west. Other than that, the cabin was completely bare.

Grandpa collapsed into one of the chairs while Henry knelt by the fireplace, examining it discriminatingly.

"We should be able to get a fire going…" he mumbled, more to himself than to the two completely disinterested parties in the room with him. "I think there's supposed to be a woodpile out back somewhere."

"You mean I don't even get to use an axe to chop down a tree?" Shawn groaned, his day just getting worse by the minute.

"Shawn, there's no way in hell I'm giving _you_ an axe." Henry snorted. "Remember what happened with the pocket knife?"

"That could have happened to _anyone!_" Shawn insisted defensively as he unhooked his sleeping bag from his backpack and spread it out on the floor.

"Kid," Henry peered at him across the rapidly-dimming room. "You cut yourself opening the package."

Shawn stretched out on the soft sleeping bag, resting his head on his hands and closing his eyes tiredly.

"…_almost_ anyone…" he murmured, already beginning to fall asleep.

Between the early morning wake-up from his father, the endless car ride, and the two mile hike, he was exhausted.

"Forget the axe," Henry ordered firmly, waving his son off. "Go find the woodpile before it gets too dark."

Shawn's eyes opened again as he propped himself up on his elbows.

"_Now? _But we just got here! Don't I even get a break?"

"Unless you want to be stumbling around out there in the pitch black…" Henry shrugged, unaffected by his son's weary plea.

"I have a flashlight."

"Shawn!"

Shawn quickly jumped up. He recognized that tone. It meant that his father was dangerously close to the end of his rope.

"Fine," he sighed, reluctantly trudging back to the door.

"And make sure it's dry!" Henry called after him, still on his knees inspecting the fireplace.

"Yeah, yeah…"

"And don't forget some sticks for kindling."

Shawn didn't respond as he kicked the door open and marched away.

"Having fun?" Grandpa grinned at his son, looking quite comfortable with his feet propped up on the other chair.

"Yeah…" Henry muttered, wiping his hands on his pants and finally standing up. "Next time, I swear I'm coming by myself."

"I don't think Shawn would object to that."

"_You're_ not any help, either, Dad."

Henry glared at his father as he brushed his feet of the chair and settled into it himself.

"What do you want _me _to do?" Grandpa asked quietly. "The kid doesn't want to be here, Henry."

"I guess that's my fault, too."

"Well…what's the point? Why torture him?"

Henry sighed and stood up again, stalking to the door.

"I didn't realize taking my son camping qualified as a violation of the Geneva Convention." He muttered, slamming it on his way out.


	4. Chapter 4

Henry stormed around to the back of the cabin, almost colliding with Shawn, who was trying to navigate his way back inside while precariously balancing an armful of firewood.

"Watch it!" He snapped gruffly.

"Watch _what?_" Shawn asked, doing his best to peer over the top of the wood. "I can't see anything!"

Henry rolled his eyes and snatched a few pieces off the top of the stack.

"Why didn't you just make two trips?" He demanded.

"Why would I make two trips?" Shawn replied simply, his eyes finally visible though everything below his nose was still hidden by the logs.

"Never mind, Kid."

"Okay."

Shawn stepped around his father and went back into the cabin. A moment later, Henry heard the unmistakable clatter of firewood being dropped carelessly on the floor. He groaned and closed his eyes, gently massaging the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

_Is it that hard, Shawn…?_ He lamented internally, knowing full-well what he was going to see when he went back inside.

_Is it that hard to stack it…and not dump it all over the floor…?_

_Is it that hard to do something the right way for once in your life…?_

He tossed the wood he was holding aside and sat down on the thick blanket of dry, crackling leaves, suddenly exhausted and not at all eager to go back inside and face the mess he knew was waiting for him.

_Next time, I swear I'm coming by myself..._

He sighed and lay back on the soft earth, clasping his hands behind his head as he stared up at the pink and orange sky, wondering vaguely how long he could stay out there before either his father or son came out to piss him off all over again…

As it turned out, twenty minutes.

Twenty quiet, pain-in-the-ass-free minutes.

He had just closed his eyes, just started drifting off to sleep, when he heard a small voice above him.

"Dad."

His eyes snapped open again. The sun had gone down now, and Henry suddenly realized he was freezing.

"What, Kid?" He mumbled as he slowly sat up and blinked into the gray night, his back already sore.

"Are you coming in?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Shawn sounded relieved. "Because we're starving, and I don't know how to use the camping stove. And I think Grandpa is starting to look at me like I'm a pork chop or something."

Henry laughed, finally managing to climb to his feet. His hand brushed past the back of Shawn's head as they walked back into the almost completely dark cabin.

* * *

"Dad!"

Shawn's blood-curdling scream pierced through the otherwise completely silent, peaceful night.

Henry was up in an instant, fumbling around in the darkness for his flashlight even before he realized he was awake.

"What the hell—?" Grandpa mumbled, also very much awake but still disoriented.

"Where's the damn flashlight?" Henry returned, still frantically searching as he waited for his eyes to adjust.

Finally, he found it and clicked it on, quickly scanning the cabin for his son.

"Shawn?"

"Dad!"

The light passed over Shawn's sleeping bag, at the bottom of which was a large, trembling lump.

Henry rolled his eyes, his heart starting to beat normally again.

He walked over to the bag and kicked gently at the lump.

"Shawn? What the hell is going on?" He demanded.

Shawn slowly crawled back to the opening of the bag, cautiously sticking just the top of his head out.

"He's here!" he whispered cryptically.

"_Who's _here?"

Henry inspected the rest of the room as best as he could with his flashlight, but didn't see anyone but Shawn and Grandpa, who now looked less concerned about his grandson and more annoyed to be awake.

"The raccoon!"

"The _raccoon?_" Henry shouted, turning the light directly at Shawn. "You're still going on about that damn _raccoon_?"

"He's in here!" Shawn insisted, diving into the safety of his sleeping bag again. "I heard him! He found me!"

"The raccoon isn't after you!"

"Yes, it is!"

The trembling lump was all the way at the bottom of the sleeping bag again.

"Shawn--"

"Henry…" Grandpa interrupted him, raising his hand and perking his ears. "Did you hear that?"

Henry paused to listen, for a moment not even breathing.

Somewhere in the dark, there was a faint, almost imperceptible, scratching sound.

Henry and Grandpa exchanged puzzled glances.

"You don't think…" Henry murmured.

"You're the one who said the kid saw a raccoon…" Grandpa returned flatly.

Henry slowly swept the light across the cabin. When the beam fell across the table, he thought he saw a brief flash.

_Two_ flashes…

Like two tiny, round reflections.

Almost like eyes…

He quickly looked again. In the center of the table, gripping a cracker in his tiny hands, was the smallest baby raccoon Henry had ever seen.

He took a slow, wary step towards the raccoon, keeping the flashlight focused steadily on it. It looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes, too petrified to even move.

As Henry drew nearer to his son's stalker, he could see that it had a nick in its left ear and a missing patch of fur on its left front leg.

"Shawn!" He growled quietly when he finally reached the table.

Shawn stuck his head out of the sleeping bag again.

"Did you find it?" He whispered. "Where's your gun?"

"I'm not going to shoot it! Get out here!"

"But the raccoon—"

"Now!"

Shawn quickly scampered across the room, followed closely by Grandpa.

"Is _that_ the stalker raccoon?" Henry demanded, the single beam of light illuminating the baby raccoon and casting a rather ominous shadow on the wall.

Shawn nodded, his voice caught in his throat as he finally came face-to-face with his predator.

"It's a _baby!_" Henry shouted.

"It's a _killer!_" Shawn insisted. "Look at its eyes!"

"Shawn, the thing is terrified!"

Henry marched across the cabin and threw the door open. The raccoon immediately dropped the cracker, dove off the table, and took off into the night.

"See?" Henry said, slamming the door again. "It just wanted some food."

"Yeah! _Me!_"

"Shawn! It couldn't have been more than eight inches long! It couldn't hurt you if it tried!"

"Then you admit it would try!"

Henry stormed back to his sleeping bag, clicking the flashlight off and throwing it on the floor angrily.

"Shawn! Go to bed."

"Like I'm going to sleep _now!_" Shawn huffed, still watching the door as if he expected the raccoon to come back at any moment. "I just almost got murdered by a raccoon!"

Grandpa snorted as he climbed back into his sleeping bag.

"What's so funny?" Henry growled bitterly at him.

"Hey," Grandpa grinned into the dark. "Don't blame me. He's_your_ son, remember."

"Yeah, yeah." Henry muttered, rolling over to go back to sleep.

Shawn stood alone in the middle of the floor, peering vigilantly into the black.

"If' he's not a stalker…" he whispered to himself. "…how did he get in here?" 


	5. Chapter 5

"Shawn. Wake up."

Henry gently prodded his son who, after keeping vigilant watch for subsequent raccoon invasions, had eventually fallen asleep at the table, clutching his small flashlight like a club.

"Huh…?"

Shawn slowly opened his eyes and lifted his head off the table. He scratched his cheek, which now bore the imprint of the grain of the wood.

"What time is it?" He asked, blinking out the dark window, where the sun hadn't yet even begun to peek over the treetops.

"Just about 4." Henry replied, zipping up his jacket and polishing off the last few drops of instant coffee in his mug.

"_A.M.?!_"

"Of course."

"I didn't know they _made_ a 4 A.M.!"

"Well, they do." Henry grunted, glancing down at his watch. "And we're already running late. Let's go."

"Go?" Shawn repeated with a drowsy yawn, resting his head on the table. "Go where?"

His face suddenly lit up as his eyes snapped open again.

"Home?" He asked hopefully.

"No." Henry growled. "We're not going home. I told you last night. We're going fishing."

"_Fishing?_" Shawn whined, unable to think of a single worse thing he could be doing at 4 o'clock in the morning. "Do I _have_ to go?"

"Only if you want to eat lunch today." Henry told him seriously, tossing his son's pole on the table.

Shawn stared down at it, absolutely dumbfounded.

"You didn't even bring us _lunch?_ You dragged me a million miles away from everything, and you didn't even bring _lunch?!_"

"Why would we need lunch, Shawn? We're going fishing."

"Can you _do_ that? Isn't this, like, child abuse?" Shawn demanded. "Don't I have rights or something?"

"It wouldn't be abuse, Shawn. It'd be neglect. And, trust me, this isn't even close."

"But we're going to starve to death!" Shawn insisted, flinging his arms in the air hopelessly. "They'll never find our bodies!"

Henry rolled his eyes.

"Knock it off. We brought food. Just not lunch."

Shawn ignored his father's assurances, instead gazing at the ceiling and moving his finger through the air as if he was reading a newspaper headline.

"Father Drags Son on Camping Trip…" he cited dramatically. "No Survivors!"

"Father Charged With Homicide of Obnoxious Son." Henry finished the headline for him, gently smacking the back of Shawn's head. "No Jury Convicts. Now get dressed and get your butt outside. Your grandpa's already out there waiting for us."

"Fine," Shawn huffed, standing up. "But when we all starve to death, you'll be sorry!"

"Trust me, Kid." Henry muttered, heading outside to join his father. "I'm already sorry."

* * *

"Dad, I'm not going to catch anything." Shawn moaned.

He was standing perched on the bank of the river, half-heartedly tugging on his line.

"You would if you'd stop talking for five minutes," Henry snapped, looking back from his position in the middle of the river a few yards up from Shawn.

Grandpa, who was propped up quite comfortably against a shady tree, opened a single eye.

"And if you'd both shut up," he growled. "I could take a nap!"

"You're not going to catch anything taking a nap, Dad." Henry shot back.

Grandpa just shrugged, kicking at his pole, which was lying uselessly in the grass beside him.

"Peanut butter is fine with me," he murmured, closing his eyes and slowly drifting back off to sleep.

Henry rolled his eyes, but then turned his concentration back to the river.

They'd been at it for hours, and he still hadn't caught anything.

Not even a nibble…

_If that kid would just shut up…_

A few minutes later, Shawn suddenly called out.

"Hey!"

Henry quickly turned back around to the bank, where Shawn had apparently gotten a bite. He was yanking fiercely on his pole, which seemed to be tugging just as hard in the opposite direction.

"Don't let go!" Henry said, quickly making his way back to the bank. "And don't break your line!"

"I'm trying!" Shawn grunted, still struggling against the invisible foe. As Henry reached his side, he gave one last titanic yank, tumbling over backwards as the fish flopped out of the water onto the grass.

"I got him!" Shawn beamed, jumping up and running over to check out his vanquished opponent. Grandpa and Henry were right behind him. The three of them stared down at the fish, which was flopping around helplessly on the ground, trying desperately to get back into the river.

"Nice fish." Grandpa grinned approvingly.

"Looks like you caught yourself some lunch," Henry agreed. "Now you just have to clean it."

Shawn looked up at him, his eyes suddenly wide.

"Clean it?"

"Sure," Henry nodded. "You know, cut it open and get the guts out."

Shawn clasped a hand over his mouth, looking like he was going to be sick.

"I have to do _what?!_"

"Shawn, you can't cook it until you clean it out and cut its head off."

"I HAVE TO CUT ITS HEAD OFF?"

"Well, what did you think?" Henry laughed. "That they came breaded and fried like fish sticks?"

"I'm not going to do _that!_"

"Shawn," Henry sighed. "Last night you wanted me to shoot a baby raccoon. Are you seriously telling me that now you can't even clean a fish?"

"The fish isn't trying to murder me in my sleep!" Shawn insisted.

"Fine." Henry rolled his eyes, grabbing the still-writhing fish off the ground. "_I'll_ clean the stupid thing."

He turned towards his backpack, where he kept his knife, but Shawn grabbed his arm before he could take a step.

"Dad…" He pleaded, looking up at his father. "Can't we just have peanut butter?"


	6. Chapter 6

A stony silence engulfed the small cabin as the three Spencer men munched on their peanut butter sandwiches.

Finally, Shawn couldn't take it anymore. He cleared his throat.

"Thee, Dad?" He tried to speak through a mouthful of peanut butter, which was sticking to the roof of his mouth. "Peanut butter ithn't tho bad."

He took a sip of his water bottle and swallowed, finally managing to get it all down his dry throat.

"And no one had to cut anything's head off!" He added.

Henry glared at him, but didn't say anything. He just took another pointedly resentful bite of his own peanut butter sandwich.

"I think your dad was looking forward to little bloodshed, Kiddo," Grandpa said quietly.

"It's not about bloodshed!" Henry snapped, finally breaking his nearly hour-long silence. "It's _fishing!_ It's part of life!Do you think they put the cows to sleep first before they turn them into hamburger?"

"Cows?" Shawn asked, his eyes suddenly wide. "What do they do to the cows?"

Henry groaned and clutched his aching head in his hands.

"Nothing, Kid."

But Shawn wasn't buying it. He dropped the crusty remains of his sandwich on his plate in horror.

"Oh. My. GOD!" He gasped. "THEY CUT OFF THE COW'S HEADS, TOO?"

"I don't know, Shawn." Henry muttered. "But they sure as hell don't tickle them to death."

Grandpa snorted, his eyes laughing as he gently pat Shawn on the back.

"I won't even tell you what they do to the chickens."

"CHICKEN?"

"Well, for starters…" Grandpa grinned. "They have to get all those feathers off _somehow…_"

"Thanks for that, Dad," Henry glared.

All the blood had drained from Shawn's face, and for a moment it looked like he was going to be sick all over the table.

"I'm never eating hamburgers or chicken again!" He vowed.

"Yeah, right." Henry laughed. "What are you going to do? Live on peanut butter for the rest of your life?"

"I might."

"Good luck with that."

"Peanut butter and pineapple!" Shawn decided firmly, bringing his fist down on the table in determination.

"Oh, yeah. Your mom's really going to go for that." Henry rolled his eyes. "And, let's face it, Kid. You'll be back to eating hamburger the second we pass a McDonalds."

He grabbed the three empty plates off the table and brought them back over to his backpack, where he quickly wiped them off and dumped them back in.

Shawn watched him intently, suddenly seeming very interested in every move he made.

"That's it?" He asked finally as Henry came back to the table.

"That's what?"

"That's how you clean a plate when you're camping? You don't, like, have to wash them or anything?"

"Wash them with what?" Henry shrugged. "I'm not going to waste our drinking water to wash a couple of plates that aren't even that dirty. And I'm sure as hell not going back down to the river to do it."

"So…when you're camping…" Shawn continued, a grin slowly creeping across his face for the first time all weekend as this new revelation dawned on him. "You don't have to do chores?"

"I guess not." Henry conceded as if he'd never really thought about it before. "At least, not your regular chores."

"That's awesome!"

Henry stared at his son's beaming face for a long moment, not sure if he was amused by it or just plain pissed-off.

Finally, he laughed and shook his head.

"_That's_ what you like about camping? The lack of chores?"

"Well, so far it's the only part that isn't gross!" Shawn insisted.

"He's got you there, Henry." Grandpa agreed. "It _is_ the only part that isn't gross. Or itchy."

"Yeah, well. We're leaving in the morning." Henry reminded them, standing back up and starting to absently pat his pockets.

"Thank God!" Shawn sighed in relief.

Henry ignored the comment, his brow furrowing as he didn't seem to be able to find whatever he was looking for.

"That's weird…" he murmured.

"What?" Grandpa asked, kicking his feet up on the table in preparation for a post-lunch, pre-evening nap.

"My compass…" Henry told him, going back over to his backpack and starting to tear it apart. "I can't find my compass…"

After a few seconds, he determined it wasn't there, either.

"Shawn, did you take it?" He asked, quickly running out of options.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"What would I do with a compass?" Shawn shrugged. "Geometry homework?"

"Not that kind of…" Henry started, then decided it just wasn't worth the headache. "Never mind, Kid. Just help me find it."

"Okay."

Shawn stood up to help in the search, but suddenly froze before he took two steps.

"Dad…" he whispered. "Did you leave it out?"

"I don't know." Henry mumbled, tearing apart Shawn's backpack now. "I _thought _it was in my pocket…maybe I lost it in the river…"

"No…" Shawn shook his head slowly. "You didn't lose it in the river…"

Henry glanced up, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"What are you talking about? Where is it?"

Shawn couldn't answer at first. His mouth was open, but he simply couldn't force any words out through the unabashed terror.

Finally, he managed to squeak out something.

"He's back!"


	7. Chapter 7

"Who's bac--" Henry started to ask, but the words died halfway out of his mouth.

He closed his eyes and groaned wearily as the realization struck him.

"Oh, God, Shawn. Don't say it…"

"The raccoon!"

"You mean the cute little baby raccoon?" Henry asked sarcastically.

"No! The psycho stalker raccoon that wants to kill me!"

Henry rolled his eyes as he zipped Shawn's bag up and dropped it back on the floor.

"The raccoon didn't steal my compass," he informed his son authoritatively as he made his way back to the table.

"Now, Henry." Grandpa intoned drily. "You don't _know_ that."

"Yeah!" Shawn agreed with a fervent nod, completely missing his grandfather's sarcasm. "You don't know that!"

"Yes, I do!" Henry snapped, his last nerve officially worn. He gestured emphatically around the nearly empty room.

"Shawn, look around! Do you _see _any raccoons in here?"

"No…" Shawn admitted, his eyes darting suspiciously around the cabin as if they might be hiding in the walls, just waiting for the chance to jump out and attack.

"Do you see any little baby raccoon tracks?" Henry pressed on.

"No…"

"That's because it's gone, Kid. It ran away. Why would it come back?"

"To steal your compass!"

"Why the _hell _would a baby raccoon want to steal my compass?"

"Ummm…"

Shawn didn't have an immediate answer. He thought about it carefully for a moment, then let out a frightened gasp when the answer finally came to him.

"So we get lost on the way home and starve to death! I told you he wants to kill me!"

"That's one devious little bugger," Grandpa murmured, endlessly amused by this exchange.

Henry shot him a reproving glare.

"Don't encourage him, Dad."

"What?" Grandpa shrugged innocently. "It's a brilliant plan!"

"It is not! We don't even need a compass to find the trail back down the mountain!"

"Well, the raccoon doesn't know that!" Shawn countered.

Henry groaned.

This was it.

After eleven years, Shawn had finally found his breaking point.

"For God's sake!" He shouted. "No one is going to starve to death _or _get lost! And no little baby raccoon is secretly plotting to kill you, Shawn."

"Then what happened to your compass?" Shawn demanded, unwavering in his belief that he was, in fact, about to be brutally murdered.

"I don't know! It probably fell out of my pocket while we were fishing."

"It did not!" Shawn insisted. "It was there when we first got back to the cabin. I saw the outline in your pocket."

"You did?"

For the first time, Henry actually looked concerned.

"Are you sure?"

"Dad, please." Shawn snorted. "Of course I'm sure."

Henry glanced questioningly at his father, who just smiled back at him.

"That's one devious little bugger."

"It is not!"

"Hey," Grandpa drawled lazily, clasping his hands loosely behind his neck. "Don't blame me. I'm not the super sleuth with X-ray vision, here. Do _you _have a better explanation for your disappearing compass than a crazed killer raccoon?"

"No," Henry admitted sullenly, though he refused to believe for a moment that a baby raccoon broke into the cabin and successfully picked his pocket without him noticing.

"Well, there you go." Grandpa concluded with grim finality. "We're all going to die."

He seemed surprisingly serene about their impending doom, but Shawn's eyes were bulging out of his head.

"WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!"

"Shawn! Knock it off." Henry growled. "No one's going to die on this tripunless _I_ kill them."

The room fell silent.

Shawn stared at his father, suddenly wondering just whose side he was on, anyway.

Grandpa just snorted.

"Well, _that's_ comforting."


	8. Chapter 8

"Henry!" Grandpa whispered, nudging his son with his toe.

Henry swatted the shoe away as he rolled over and pulled his pillow up over his head.

"Shawn!" He growled, still half asleep. "I told you! We're notleaving before dawn. Go to sleep."

Grandpa rolled his eyes and yanked the pillow away.

"Hey! Supercop!" He snapped, smacking Henry upside the head. "Your son's missing."

Henry sat up, suddenly wide awake.

"What?"

"Shawn. He's gone."

Henry fumbled for his flashlight, but he could already see in the dark that the cabin door was hanging open. He jumped up as the light swept over Shawn's empty sleeping bag.

"Damn it, Shawn…" he groaned.

"Maybe he just had to go to the bathroom…" Grandpa suggested.

Henry shook his head.

"No. Look. His backpack's gone, too."

"He wouldn't do anything stupid, would he?" Grandpa asked quietly.

Henry was already running out the door.

"Dad. It's Shawn."

"Right." Grandpa nodded, following his son. "I hope you brought a raccoon bite kit…"

Outside, Henry searched the soft earth for footprints or any signs of Shawn. After ten heart-stopping minutes, he still hadn't found a single trace.

"Shawn!" He yelled into the quiet night. "Shawn!"

There was nothing else he could do.

According to his watch, it was at least another three hours until sunrise.

Three helpless hours…

Grandpa came back from searching around the back of the cabin.

"Find anything?" He asked, anxiety creeping into his voice for the first time.

Henry just shook his head.

He didn't want to know what his voice would sound like right now.

"He'll find his way back, Henry." Grandpa said after a pause. "You know he can't get lost. The kid remembers every turn he takes. Thanks to your constant pop quizzes."

"This isn't a road, Dad!" Henry snapped, his eyes straining to see as far as they could. "This is the middle of nowhere surrounded by trees and mountain lions! It's not as simple as remembering how many left turns!"

"He'll find his way back, Henry." Grandpa said again, softer this time. "He'll always find his way back."

Henry opened his mouth to respond, but stopped himself when he thought he heard something.

It was distant…faint…almost imperceptible…but he had definitely heard it.

A twig snapping.

He listened harder.

A few seconds later, there was another snap.

Then another.

"Shawn!" He yelled, but he still couldn't see anything.

"Dad?"

A small beam of light suddenly appeared through the trees.

A few seconds later, Shawn calmly strolled into the clearing. He was still wearing his pajamas and his backpack was slung casually over his shoulder. His hiking boots weren't even tied, as if he had put them on in a hurry.

"Shawn!" Henry shouted the second he was in eyesight. "What the _hell_ are you doing?!"

"What?" Shawn asked innocently, aiming his flashlight at his father's face. "I was trying to get your compass back."

"My _compass?!_"

"Yeah!" Shawn explained, the words pouring out of his mouth so rapidly Henry could barely follow what he was saying. "I heard this scratching sound on the window when I was trying to sleep. I looked over, and it was the raccoon! He was trying to get in again, but he couldn't. He ran away when he saw me watching him, so I figured I'd follow him and maybe I'd find your compass."  
"You _tailed_ a _raccoon?_" Grandpa almost laughed. "In the _dark?_"

"Well…I lost him." Shawn admitted. "And I didn't find your compass. But I know he took it!"

"I don't care about the damn compass!" Henry exploded. "It's the middle of the night! What the _hell_ were you thinking taking off like that by yourself?"

"I was just trying to get your compass…" Shawn mumbled, kicking limply at a stone.

"I don't need a compass, Shawn."

"Okay."

Henry sighed and checked his watch again.

"We're leaving in four hours, Kid. And I don't want to hear another word about that damn raccoon _or_ my compass until then. Am I clear?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Get your butt back in the cabin."

"Okay."

Henry's hand brushed the back of Shawn's head as he past by and walked into the cabin.

Shawn crawled back into his sleeping bag and tried to sleep.

He didn't mention that on the way inside, he thought he saw the raccoon again, sitting up on its hind legs on the edge of the clearing.

And he didn't mention that he had something small clutched in his paws…

Something small and round…

About the size of the compass…

Something told him his father wouldn't want to hear it.


	9. Chapter 9

_I really didn't plan to write this. I thought the last chapter was the end...but I had a lot of people say they wanted an update and they wanted some more closure...so I decided I had to do this for them._

_So, if you asked for closure and/or an update, here you go! This is for you:-)_

"Dad, are we almost there?" Shawn groaned, about a half-hour into their long trek back down the mountain.

He knew they weren't even close to the bottom, but he couldn't help asking.

He wasn't allowed to talk about the raccoon.

He wasn't allowed to talk about the compass.

But no one had forbid him from asking the same question twenty thousand times…at least, not yet.

"Shawn, do you _see_ the car?" Henry snapped, turning around.

"No." Shawn grumbled.

"Then we're not there."

"I'm tired!"

Henry pressed on, completely immune to his son's whining.

"Maybe if you actually went to sleep last night instead of playing Indiana Jones with a baby raccoon, you wouldn't be." He muttered.

"Psycho killer baby raccoon!" Shawn corrected.

He knew it was breaking the prohibition against talking about the raccoon, but he didn't care. _Someone_ had to set the record straight.

"I wonder if he puts that on his business cards…" Grandpa mused as he passed by both of them. "'Psycho Killer Baby Raccoon: Professional Compass Thief.'"

Henry rolled his eyes and shot Shawn a glower that said as clearly as words ever could, "Now look what you did. He'll be making jokes like that the rest of the hike."

"The raccoon didn't steal my compass!" He was shouting as he and Grandpa both disappeared around a bend.

Shawn hung back, listening until he could no longer hear their voices or the leaves crunching beneath their feet, then slowly started to amble his way down the well-beaten trail.

As he turned the corner, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Sitting in the middle of the path, a small black compass resting at his feet, was the raccoon.

For a moment, they just stared at each other.

"Nice psycho raccoon…" Shawn said quietly, slowly backing up one step at a time. "You don't want to kill me…please don't kill me…"

The raccoon suddenly stood up on its hind legs, chattering as it rubbed its hands together almost viciously.

"DAD!"

As Shawn brought his hand up to his mouth to call for his father, a single ray of sunlight poked through the treetops and glinted off his watch's face, creating a shimmering patch of light on the leaves by the raccoon's feet.

The raccoon watched the dancing light intently, then looked up at Shawn's wrist, as if he knew where it was coming from.

He rubbed his hands together again, chattering as he stared at the watch.

Shawn blinked in surprise, remembering back to the first time he had seen the raccoon on the hike up the mountain.

Hadn't the sun been reflecting off his watch then, too…?

"Do…do you want my watch?" He asked hesitantly. "Is that why you're stalking me?"

The raccoon didn't answer.

He just kept staring at the watch.

Shawn slowly took it off and tossed it on the ground a few feet away.

"You can have it." He said. "If you don't kill me."

The raccoon approached the gift cautiously, sniffing it then slowly picking it up.

He looked up at Shawn, suddenly not appearing quite as homicidal as he had a minute ago.

"Can…can I have my dad's compass back, then?" Shawn asked. "He doesn't believe me that you took it."

When the raccoon again didn't answer, Shawn slowly reached around him and picked up the compass.

It seemed like a fair exchange.

"So…you won't kill me now, right?"

They regarded each other for a moment, until Shawn heard the angry snapping of twigs.

"Shawn!" Henry yelled, coming back to find his pokey son. "What are you doing? You're the one who wanted get back!"

He stopped when he saw the compass in Shawn's hand.

"Where did you find that?"

"The raccoon gave it back."

"What did I say about that damn raccoon?" Henry growled. "I don't want to hear it, Shawn! Where did you really find it? Was it in your pack?"

"No!" Shawn insisted. "The raccoon had it! He's right--"

But, of course, when Shawn pointed to the spot on the ground where the raccoon had been standing only moments ago, there was nothing there.

The raccoon was gone.

"I don't see a raccoon, Shawn." Henry snapped, grabbing the compass out of his hand.

"He was there a minute ago." Shawn sighed, starting the head down the path again.

He knew there was no point in trying to convince his father.

He would never believe him.

Henry rolled his eyes and started to follow Shawn down the path. As he turned the bend, he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye…

It was just a flash…a ringed tail disappearing behind a tree…

But by the time he looked, it was gone.

_No…_he told himself firmly, shaking his head as he marched on.

_It's not possible._

_The kid's got me seeing things…_

_Next time, I swear I'm coming by myself._


End file.
